


Your Protection

by rom



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 11:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rom/pseuds/rom
Summary: “You’re an absolute fool. You really could have died.” Malka tutted, running his fingers across the gash in the armor. Its sharp edges were glimmering, but the inside was dulled by blood, matted brown like rust. “The pauldron is trashed.” He muttered.“Oops.” Ranzal responded with a pained grin.





	Your Protection

Petite steps echoed in the foreboding stone corridor of the basement. The armorer was rarely visited in his workshop, and the softness of the noise heralded the coming of someone not burdened with armor. It was as he heard, and the moment she leaned in with her soft knock on the doorframe, Malka knew he wouldn’t like what was about to be said.

“Malka…” The girl in the door called to him. 

“Cleo,” he greeted her warily, “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” she seemed to roll the words around in her mouth for a moment. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…”

“Ranzal.” He sighed, not needing her to finish. 

“Yeah.”

“I knew he was going with the troops today, so I suppose I was ready for it.” He dropped his notebook and stood, taking off his apron. “What’s the damage?”

“Well…” her mouth pursed as she clearly did not want to be caught in the crosshairs.

“Alright, I can see for myself.”

“He’s in the infirmary.”

_ The infirmary?  _ Surely it couldn’t have been that bad. 

* * *

  
  


“You’re an absolute fool. You really could have died.” Malka tutted, running his fingers across the gash in the armor. Its sharp edges were glimmering, but the inside was dulled by blood, matted brown like rust. “The pauldron is trashed.” He muttered. 

Ranzal was laid up in his bed, bolstered by pillows to keep his bandaged shoulder supported. He had taken the entire head of a spear right through his shoulder and part of his chest, breaking his collarbone. Cleo and a few others had already seen to his injuries well before Malka had been called, so he was alright for now despite the extent of his injuries. 

“Oops.” Ranzal responded with a pained grin.

“Well at least you’re happy with yourself.”

“Well I didn’t expect ya to have so much to say about  _ my  _ damage. Yer normally yammering on about the armor before you even see the person wearing it.” Ranzal said, chuckling. Malka started back at him blankly.

“Don’t be obtuse. You  _ know _ why I make armor.”

“Yeah, ‘Not only for the love of armor… but for the love of those in it,’ or something, right?” Malka’s eyebrows raised at Ranzal’s terrible imitation of his own manner, but chose to say nothing. “But in practice yer always a ‘results’ guy though, eh? Always turning me over for scratches and dents…” 

“Combing your gear for the joy of chiding you is not the kindest way to treat a man who was just reamed like summer citrus. Even I have better bedside manner than that.” Malka felt his face flushing slightly. He knew he was coarse with Ranzal. It wasn’t really any wonder that he was braced for his fury. But he also knew this was Ranzal trying to lighten the mood. Malka felt a lump in his throat grow as he examined the bloodied and torn armor.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Cleo fixed me up! Did a real nice job too, I can still move it!” He winced as he shifted his body weight in attempt to prove his point.

“Stop it, you fool.” Malka mumbled. He began to collect the little metal bits and pieces that once constituted Ranzal’s armor. Ranzal felt… well, not guilty. But he did feel like he should say something.

“I just meant you don’t have to worry about me!”

“It’s not like you will if I don’t.”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? Sure, I will! I have to be around to-“

“To protect your friends, yes.” Malka interrupted. He stood up, gathering the collected bits in a burlap sack he had brought with him. 

“Just…” he grunted, gesturing to the many healers and helping hands Aeleen was loudly delegating to ensure the injured troops were all cared for. “don’t forget that there are a lot of people who work  _ off  _ the battlefield to keep you safe too.” Before Ranzal had a chance to respond, Malka was walking away. He sighed and fell back onto the bed.

_ To keep me safe _ …

_Ugh_… Ranzal grunted painfully as he adjusted himself in his bed. He knew he probably handled that wrong but couldn’t really see why it mattered. He was fine, after all… Sure, he probably should have been more careful. He didn’t regret it or even feel bad about charging in, but he hated feeling guilted. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Malka wanting to protect him, he figured, he just… didn’t really want  _ anyone  _ worrying over something that didn’t exist yet. Least of all Malka. He was gutted every time Malka looked at him with worry in his eyes - not even Euden’s concern made his stomach turn like that. 

Probably because it usually precluded a half hour of reprimanding.

* * *

As the weeks went by, Ranzal slowly regained his strength. The halidom bustled as it ever had, their ranks growing by the small handful regularly. He was still in no shape to fight despite the amount of magic their best healers had poured into him. Magic could only do so much, and at this point it was down to his body to mend what damage remained.

And in all that time, there was no way for him to train. Ranzal had begun to fill his time by helping people out- delivering between hands, carrying small loads here and there. But one person who still seemed to wanted nothing to do with him, shockingly, was Malka.

He had known Malka was just annoyed (as he often was) and would come around (as he always had), but it seemed his bad mood extended far past what Ranzal could have imagined. He would disappear into his workshop for days, only coming out in the dead of night to sneak into the kitchen, then return quietly. When Ranzal attempted to chat, he was polite but curt and seemed even more interested in returning to his research than he usually did. 

It was nothing unusual- Malka was never warm, but the sudden reclusive behavior felt like a direct response to the accident. And Ranzal had been thinking of it ever since. 

Everyone in the halidom had known, too. Ranzal had always had the energy of 10 men, so when his countenance dipped even slightly, the entire room felt the difference. And the combination of feeling ignored and unable to train left his normally sunny disposition glacial.

“Ah, Ranzal!” Euden said, catching him about to leave the kitchen.

“Hey, big guy.”

“Can you do me a biiig favor?” Euden said through a grin. Ranzal’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“Sure. What can I do ya for?”

“Well, Julietta just taught me to make tea but… I personally can't tell if it's very good, so I was wondering if you could take it to Malka! Since I know he likes tea.” Ranzal looked around. The kitchen, which seemingly seconds before had a small number of people bustling around, was suddenly empty.

“...Are you sure I’m the right guy fer this errand?”

“You’re the only one around! But I can… take it I suppose…” Euden said, clearly leveraging his power.

“Agh,” Ranzal grunted, “No… I know what you’re trying to do, kid. I’ll… take the damn tea.”

“Ah, thank you,” Euden replied, ignoring Ranzal’s mood, “that’s a huge help!”

Despite the two of them ostensibly being alone, Ranzal felt eyes on him as he left the kitchen.

* * *

Ranzal leaned into the doorframe of the workshop. As expected, there was a figure at the desk examining small bits of metal. Poking them and prodding them in complete silence, doing some sort of test. 

“Do you need something?” The figure asked without looking up, surprising Ranzal.

“Caught me, eh?”

“You’re hard to miss, unfortunately.” 

“Well, I figured you’d be angry as a hornet if I interrupted but...“ He walked into the room, revealing the saucer and cup of tea. “Euden thought you might want this and I was headed out of the kitchen anyhow, so…” 

“Well,” he sighed, gesturing for him to set it on the desk, “I will take that. Thank you, Ranzal.”

“Not sure if you wanted anything in it, but it's, uh… I dunno, plain? Black? ...It’s just tea. Is what I mean.” Malka didn’t respond as he turned to jot something in his notebook, the pages of which were dusty with charcoal and full of indecipherable calculations and chickenscratch. Ranzal set down the tea and turned to wander the room uninvited.

“By the way,” Ranzal said, pretending to care about the various hammers Malka had hanging on the wall, “Since I’m outta the game right now I’m not really makin’ any dosh the way I need to in order to pay ya back. Just wanted to let ya know fer yer… ledgers or whatever.” Malka stopped his feverish note taking to drop his shoulders and sigh dramatically, clearly annoyed by the discussion of money in a time like this.

“You don’t… need to do anything right now. Just relax and rest. Seriously. If you keep trying to do too much on top of tending your wounds, you’ll never heal and you’ll REALLY never be able to pay me back. I’ll charge interest and your children’s children will owe me every red cent.” He stood and crossed the room, passing Ranzal to rifle through his chest of drawers, which were meticulously packed full with little boxes, full of things unknowable to Ranzal.

“That serious, huh?” Ranzal crossed his arms, nervous. He seemed to be folding himself in, perhaps so he wouldn’t tower over Malka so much. It had the opposite effect, as he blocked the already limited light from the drawer Malka was rifling through. Malka closed the drawer, leaned back against the chest and sighed.

“Okay, you seem like you have something you want to say.” Ranzal wasn't quite ready to have been confronted like this. 

“I’m… uh… sorry.” Ranzal said. Malka’s eyes closed heavily and he sighed again.

“No, you’re not. You just think that’s what I want to hear.” Bingo. Ranzal laughed at Malka’s sincerity, breaking the tension for a moment.

“Well… ya still see right through me!”

“I know you well enough to know you’re not sorry for doing what you felt needed to be done. So,” he said, stepping back towards his desk, “what  _ are _ you saying sorry for?”

“I’m… sorry I haven’t been thinkin’ all that much about others lately.”

“Others?”

“The people in the Halidom that do stuff… like cooking and healing and um.. making armor. I know all that stuff’s important and I appreciate it but my mind’s been on the battlefield these days.” Malka almost seemed to smile for a moment before shaking his head.

“Nice as it is for you to say it, nobody’s mad at you.” Ranzal looked at him blankly, his eyebrows drawing together in thought. Before he had a chance to ask, Malka started.

“Your most recent armor was my first crack at a new metal - a gold and platinum alloy, that is - thinking surely the two in combination would produce a magic resistance far above what I could have achieved before with standard metal, at least allowing me to split the difference between weight and function. But sending you out in a materiel untested in active battle was... idiotic, frankly. I was excited and took too much of a risk. It worked hypothetically in the vacuum of a workshop setting but even when I _knew_ nothing prepares one for the strength of a-“

“Wait,” Ranzal interrupted. Malka uncharacteristically obeyed and went quiet. “...Is all this hogwash meant to tell me yer just mad at yourself?” Ranzal laughed, stepping towards the desk himself. Malka’s face began to slowly turn red.

“That’s... not what I said.”

“It’s what ya implied!” Ranzal threw his arms out, suddenly buoyant. 

“Not at all!” Malka said, scrambling as Ranzal scooped him into an embrace and lifted him easily.

“Ahhh…what a relief! I seriously thought ya’d even be spitting on my grave when they finally lay me low and instead you were just being weird about somethin’ stupid.” Even with the lack of recent training, his strength still outclassed Malka's incomparably. 

“Get off me, you oaf,” Malka groaned, fidgeting in Ranzal’s arms. “It wasn’t just ‘something stupid’ - I put my trust in my work before your own safety.” He tried to wiggle free for a moment longer before Ranzal finally set him down. He took a moment to gather himself before continuing. “It was careless and you could have easily died. And not because of you. Because of me. …I was sorry to have done that to you.” Malka said, tucking in a bandage on Ranzal’s dressing that had come loose with his effort. 

“...Seriously? The guys I’ve had make my armor and stuff in the past have only done half as good as your _worst_ stuff. Well. Minus the all-gold one.” Malka breathed a small laugh.

“Don’t remind me. But thanks.”

“Anytime. Thanks for the protection, man.”

“Always.” He said. Malka's smile seemed…sad. 

The air was thick for a moment as Ranzal stared at Malka. He still felt the phantom touch of Malka’s body in his arms- thin and small, but strong. And looking at him now, knowing how much he thought about Ranzal, even if just for work… he felt something in him flutter. 

“Well… nice as this as been, I’ve got a few more things so, you can, uh…” Malka gestured towards the door. 

“Oh, yeah! I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Yeah.” Ranzal turned to leave when Malka suddenly spoke again. “By the way-“

“Yeah?” Ranzal responded quickly, surprising himself with his own excitement.

“I like lemon in my tea.” Malka smiled, finally picking up the saucer he had so dutifully brought.

“Oh… right. Gotcha.” Ranzal felt… weird again. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the aside as he made his exit.

Malka closed and locked the door behind Ranzal and returned to his desk where the tea sat, cooling. He took a sip and knew instantly that his lame excuse was at least partially true- there was no way Ranzal could make tea like this. And it was _well_ within the realm of possibility that His Highness would meddle in affairs like these. 

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He knew he was being a child about this. He was just… frustrated and annoyed and needed time to himself. To work in silence, to once again attempt to solve the puzzle he himself had created and he alone cared about.

Malka sat for a moment longer, feeling the tingle where Ranzal’s warm hand had laid on his back. Taking another sip of his tea, he stood and returned to his drawer, suddenly very determined to find the bauble he had been searching for when he was interrupted.  
  



End file.
